shambala la la

had my employee evaluation yesterday; it was very good, actually. my strength: i always stay busy. my weakness: i get flustered. "you're coming into your own here" my manager noted. "you seem a lot more outgoing and willing to speak up." "my life is going much better now" i replied, and it is true: i was a miserable wisp when i started working there 2+ years ago, it being a 2nd job i took solely to get away from my horrid marriage for at least another night per week. i cannot even relate to that level of shit now. hopefully i will never again have to.
it is good to be acknowledged for my worth. it is a human neccessity, actually.
afterwards j and i got together... "the shows are all new tonight" he said happily, so we engaged in our comfortable custom of weed and thursday night NBC. i fucking love 'the office.' the other shows are pretty stupid. advertisements whilst stoned are absolutely fascinating. and the colbert report should never be watched sober. guamanians! he is my sole portal into television and cinema. during commercials we listened to the alec baldwin tirade on his computer. it is fucking horrible. i feel especially disgusting for perpetuating the fame of it with my sick voyeurism. the modern world is lacking a soul. "big deal" he said. "my dad beat on me all the time." "yeah, i got a fat lip and 'i don't have a daughter'" i agreed. we were both laughing. it is one of two possible responses, ultimately.
i use too many qualifiers. it is a typically female proclivity: 'in my opinion', 'i suppose'... they subtly convey insecurity in one's opinion, even if there is no personal doubt. i do this all the fucking time. there is a book that i cannot recall the name of about a lesbian who goes undercover as a man to see how she's treated in the world, and realizes whilst 'posing' how many latent girly mannerisms she possesses, even as a full-fledged self-professed bulldyke. she smacks her lips together after applying chapstick, for example. after reading that i noticed myself doing the same thing. and guys don't? or the way women talk with their fingers but men talk with their hands. no one taught this. it just happens. i would make a crappy transsexual.
i was always unnerved by how my ex would sit with his legs crossed like a girl. i would even point it out to him. "what?" he'd protest, immediately defensive; this is the same man who says "fags" and "niggers" without any hint of irony. in retrospect, i am cruelly smug about berating him about something so sacred as his masculinity.
i am far too much of a bitch. i even have the audacity to smirk whilst typing that.